Saturday, August 5, 2017

Parental Toys

My first/George's third birthday party.
Notice the bull and matador.
How come I didn't have toys like that?

My favourite toys . . . weren't mine.
Because everyone had better toys than me. Or at least Mom and Dad did.
Their neat toys were all carefully displayed on their fireplace mantle.
Okay, I thought it was weird, too.
Especially since they never, ever played with them.
Not once.
I had watched.
There was a plaster matador and bull set.
One of which, had a cape.
And one, horns.
I'll let you sort that out.
They were immensely fun to play with. Until Mom caught up with me.
"Diane, put those back!"
Sigh.
Then there were the models of bulls.
Horned and polled Herefords.
They were terrific when one wanted to play farm.
Of course, then the matador's bull would have to join in.
Giving the matador just that much more responsibility.
He was tall and strong and handsome.
He could handle it.
"Diane, what did I tell you?!"
Rats.
But the best of all was the bronze horse.
He was glorious.
Standing looking out across the prairie, ears pricked.
He even had a bronze saddle and bridle.
With bronze reins.
"Diane! How on earth did you lug that thing down there! Put it back at once!"
Geeze. That woman was everywhere!
Mom and Dad's toys entertained me for years.
Until I dropped the matador.
It was an accident!
And twisted those bronze reins off the horse.
Oops. Who knew they would do that?
But I maintain that if they didn't want them played with, they should have put them away.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

9 comments:

Other people's toys were so often better. Much better.Like the year I got a pram for the dolls I didn't play with and my brothers got an archery set.It worked out well though. I played with the bow and arrows while the brothers used my pram to carry the fruit they stole from neighbours trees...

I love the line "that woman was everywhere!" So true of moms :) My parents had a little leather camel my uncle brought back from a peacekeeping posting to Egypt. I *may* have played with it a few times. Ahem.

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My novel, Carving Angels

My Second Novel: Kris Kringle's Magic

About the Mom

Diane was born and raised on one of the last of the great old Southern Alberta ranches. A way of life that is fast disappearing now. Through her memories and stories, she keeps it alive. And even, at times, accurate . . .